Stories told on porches in the night are the food that feeds our souls. A porch is a stepping off place, where girls kiss their parents goodbye and disappear into an adventure,where moms wait to hear their stories when they come home.It' a place where laughter drowns out the crickets, where friends become family. C'mon up to my porch, pull up a chair and tell me your story. We'll weave it into the quilt that wraps us up when life is cold.

Monday, September 7, 2009

Response to Crisis

It's a lovely laid back Labor Day weekend

As it has been our custom for many years,

the Lagoonatics have gathered for Dana's birthday.

Cold beer

warm hearts

on Paula's deck

A sudden scream pierces the Florida drizzle!

We all jump to our feet and pound through the house!

We fling open the front door where our children are sitting on the front porch.

"Who's yelling?" I demand.

"You!" Caitlin replies, dumfounded.

"It's Stephanie!" Stacey shouts.

"Where is she?" We all scream at each other.

"She left hours ago!' Caitlin hollers.

"No she didn't" Dana counters.

"Stephanie, where are you?" I demand in my teacher voice.

"She cant' see in the dark! She's in the water!"Stacey shrills, waving her arms.